


Living Space

by RatOuttaHell



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Inconsistent Accents, M/M, Trans Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 02:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatOuttaHell/pseuds/RatOuttaHell
Summary: Junkrat starts hanging around Roadhog's house. Roadhog hates that he doesn't hate it.





	Living Space

**Author's Note:**

> hey guess who's back and writing other shit instead of chapters for hir main fic! it's me. If you read (un)planned parenthood, I'm sorry! but you know how it is. ideas pop into your head, they don't fit in the other fic, blah, blah, blah. as usual, this is some fluffy bullshit. it's way more canon-compliant as of "the plan" than my other stuff, though I'm not going to make any promises about the accuracy. I do what I want. 
> 
> *possible dysphoria trigger for a brief mention of junkrat's pre-op chest in the last part but otherwise should be all clear*

He's been hanging around a lot, recently. Like a burr or a flea, something hanging onto Roadhog's clothes. Even when they're not actively plotting something, Junkrat always seems to be invading Roadhog's home, bringing his projects over to tinker with and ranting about some harebrained scheme he's come up with. His voice has become a constant presence in that house just outside Junkertown. Probably because there's no one else who can stand to listen to him for more than ten seconds without kicking the everliving shit out of him. Maybe this just comes with the territory of being his bodyguard. It would make sense that Junkrat would spend more time around Roadhog now that the man is conveniently standing between him and the aforementioned shit-kicking (and all for some treasure he hasn't seen yet).

It drives him crazy. Or, it should. After years of near-silence, only hearing human conversation when he needed to go outside, Junkrat's voice scrapes against his ears. But Junkrat doesn't expect him to respond, which is kind of nice, if only because half his prattle is completely inane. He can sit there and talk and tinker for hours without pausing. When he does pause, he seems to take Roadhog's silence or occasional grunts as encouragement, and continues as though Roadhog answered him, sometimes with an “of course!” or “why didn't I think of that?” Apparently his mental Roadhog is a bit of a genius. Roadhog doesn't mind that part.

The only part that he minds is that he doesn't mind. It's not like he cut himself off for no reason. He firmly believes that this Earth is big waste of a planet, even beyond Junkertown. There are the wretched abandoned, but then there are the even more wretched ones that abandoned them in the first place. Living with their clean streets and nice houses on land that hasn't been torn apart by war. Ignoring the wreckage of Roadhog's home because it's ugly and inconvenient.. This world isn't worth putting up with, barely worth surviving in, so he's hardened himself to it. He doesn't want anyone around, least of all some scrawny, half-cracked rat with a voice like a table saw. This bitch of an Earth may deserve the both of them, but that doesn't mean that Roadhog has to be happy about it. Doesn't mean he has to be happy about anything.

He has to admit, though, that having Junkrat around isn't the worst thing that's happened to him in recent memory. Since they've started working together, Roadhog has only broken his silence a few times, mostly to ask if Junkrat is planning on shutting up. To which the rat always responds with something along the lines of “Nah, mate, not anytime soon,” and insists that his idle chatter will sound like a lullaby once Roadhog gets used to it.

Roadhog doubts that. But it's not as bad as it could be.

 

It's been a few months now and the situation is getting more dire. Junkrat's presence isn't out of the ordinary anymore, which is bad enough. But the really distressing thing is that his absence _is_ . It's starting to feel weird when he's not around the house. _Roadhog's_ house. Where he lives. Alone. And he likes it that way. But here's the thing: he's starting to get used to Junkrat's constant talk, his banging around and cursing when something wasn't working out the way he wants it to, the uneven thudding of his gait. Having him around is starting to get too comfortable.

He decides that he has to rip this relationship up by the roots. No, Roadhog tells himself, it's not a relationship. It's an arrangement; he doesn't have relationships. The arrangement can stay. Fifty-fifty? That's fine. Nothing more, nothing less. But Junkrat keeps pushing that boundary, keeps forgetting why they tolerate each other anyway. Keeps giving him _nicknames_.

“Hey, Roadie, can you pass me that wrench?”

“Oi, Hog, whatchu up to?”

“Yer roight, Hoggie, I need more coffee.”

The nicknames are really the last straw.

“Roadie, you gotta look at this, I'm a fuckin' genius!” says Junkrat, gesturing widely to the blueprint spread beneath him on the floor. His grin is crooked, his eyes wild, but he somehow manages to look sweet in his enthusiasm. It's… it's disgusting, Roadhog tells himself.

“I'm not your mate,” he says stonily.

“Sorry?” asks Junkrat, his smile beginning to fade. “What was that, mate? Y'know I'm a little deaf in one ear.”

“I'm not,” says Roadhog, enunciating carefully. “Your mate.” Now Junkrat is actively frowning.

“'Scuse me _Mr._ Roadhog,” says Junkrat. He's sneering, but there's this look of confusion he can't quite hide. Roadhog squashes the instinct to feel sorry for him, the bizarre urge to take it back. “Didn't know we were on the formal-est of terms considerin' I've seen yer ass!” Okay, there goes the pity.

“That's the problem!” roars Roadhog. “You don't leave me alone, you're always here, acting like we're mates, walking in on me when I'm in the shower!”

“Well sorry for tryin' to take a piss!” says Junkrat. He's definitely getting angrier now. Good. Maybe he'll back off.

“Take a piss in your own house!” says Roadhog. He slaps a large hand over his mask, undoubtedly smudging the glass lenses.

“Look,” he says wearily. “I'm your bodyguard. I'll look out for you when we're taking the piss outta suits, but this is business. Not friendship.” Junkrat sits stiller than Roadhog has ever seen him sit, scowling into the distance.

“Get out!” yells Roadhog. Anyone else would've jumped at the command, or at least started, but Junkrat just rolls up his blueprint, collects himself, and heads for the exit.

“See ya 'round,” he says without looking back, and slams the door behind him.

Well. Good.

 

It's been two weeks and it _isn't_ good, as it turns out. Not only is the regained silence positively eerie, Roadhog hasn't seen Junkrat in weeks. Junkrat is his boss; whether or not Roadhog prefers his absence (he doesn't), it's a problem. No boss, no pay.

But it's more than that. No Junkrat, no chatter. No Junkrat, no company. No Junkrat, no… Roadhog doesn't even know what. He's starting to actually feel worried about the brat. It's strange, feeling worried about someone. Almost painful. Like he's working some kind of half-atrophied muscle. At first, he didn't even recognize it as worry. It was just this vaguely sick feeling in his stomach. He'd thought it was indigestion for a while, before he'd laid off the coffee without improvement. Well, there was _some_ improvement – coffee is pretty rough on his sensitive tummy – but not enough to matter.

Whatever. It doesn't matter what his motive is. One way or another, he's gotta find Junkrat. It's his duty as an employee, and as a. Friend? Nope. Not allowed. Don't think about it. Just go.

So he goes. He takes the hog out of storage, packs the newly-installed sidecar (Junkrat's creation) full of food and water, not knowing how long he'll be gone, and rides off into the sunset. Or, rather, rides off into the midday sun. Because as dramatic as that would be, it'll be easier to look for Junkrat with a little light.

After riding around the outskirts of Junkertown for about an hour, Roadhog begins to realize how little he knows about Junkrat. Doesn't know where he lives or how old he is. Doesn't even know his real name. How could Roadhog spend months with this man as his boss and know so little about him? Though he guesses that Junkrat doesn't know a lot about him, either. He isn't exactly an open book. Had been, once, but he isn't making that mistake twice.

Roadhog's about a mile and a half from his house when he notices some sort of tent in the distance. Or, not even a tent. More like a burrow with a tarp pulled over it. It isn't terribly remarkable. Could be something a straggler outcast of Junkertown pulled together to keep a bit of sun out. Except that it's surrounded by an almost impenetrable ring of steel traps and homemade explosives. And, of all the idiotic things, there's a huge x-eyed smiley face spray painted in yellow on the black tarp.

He parks the hog as soon as the traps and bombs come into view. He isn't about to risk running over a tripwire without noticing. Watching every step, Roadhog walks up to the fairy ring of death and examines it. Yup. No way he's getting through that mess of rust and wire. He wonders how Junkrat's been coming and going since he last left Roadhog's place. The rat's probably been stewing in his revolting little burrow for the past couple of weeks. The idea of it makes his stomach turn, and not just with disgust.

He can't even be sure that Junkrat is in there, though. This place is over a mile away from where Roadhog lives, and Junkrat isn't particularly fast. He could've been intercepted by raiders or bounty hunters the second he left Roadhog's house. Or, probably not, since Roadhog would've heard it. Might've heard it. Junkrat makes a lot of noise, but something like chloroform could shut even him up. Or, it's possible that Junkrat made it halfway, or almost the whole way here, before being captured. Goddammit, he was the worst bodyguard in the world, wasn't he? Two whole weeks before he even went looking for his boss, figuring that Junkrat was just sulking. Idiot.

Well, as far as Roadhog can tell, he's only got one chance at finding out whether or not his boss is in that hideout.

“Junkrat!” he shouts. “Get out here!” No response. “I know you're in there!” A lie. No response. “Stop sulking like a little shit and show your fucking face!”

“Get outta here ya pig!” Roadhog feels every muscle in his body relax at that table-saw voice. He could have crumpled onto the ground right here and now. Rather than examining where this feeling of relief is coming from, he sucks in a filtered breath and shouts again.

“Get your ass out here, brat!” There's some rustling in the burrow and Roadhog thinks for a second that Junkrat's going to pop his head out. And indeed, something of Junkrat's emerges from behind the tarp. Well. He guesses he asked for that one, technically.

Before he knows it, he laughing. Hard. Deep belly laughs, wheezing in spite of the mask. Because as much as he doesn't want to think about it, thank God. Thank God Junkrat is alive. More rustling, and Junkrat's entire body, now shorts-clad, appears as he crawls out from under the tarp. He slowly straightens himself (though not entirely, he's still got his trademark slouch) and walks cautiously to the circle of death he's built.

“You,” he started. “You alroight there, mate?” Roadhog sucks in another breath and holds up the “okay” sign with his fingers. Now that he knows Roadhog is fine, Junkrat scowls. “What's so funny, then?”

“Nothing,” says Roadhog, getting a hold of himself. “Nothing funny.”

“I shouldn't even be talking with you,” says Junkrat. “I'm angry with you.” He blinks a few times, looking confused, and then sticks his long nose in the air and crosses his arms. “Can't remember why, but I know there's some reason.” It's at this moment that Roadhog realizes how easy it would be to use Junkrat's shoddy memory to his advantage. Junkrat doesn't _need_ to be angry at all, if he can't even remember why he's angry in the first place. But somehow Roadhog feels that he owes Junkrat more than sweeping this whole thing under the rug. He's having some kind of a crisis over the scrawny little shit, so it's clear that Junkrat means something to him.

“I said we weren't mates,” he reminds Junkrat. Junkrat's eyes light up, and he looks almost excited to remember why he's mad. It's gross the same way his excitement is always gross, in that Roadhog is pretty sure what he's feeling is something entirely separate from revulsion.

“Roight,” said Junkrat. “And now you come craaaaaaaaaawling back. Just like they always do.” Roadhog rolls his eyes but nods. Suddenly sheepish, Junkrat clears his throat. “So, er. Why'd ya come out here?”

“Why d'you think?” asks Roadhog. Junkrat only shrugs.

“I'm comin' up empty,” he says. Roadhog groans; he hadn't thought this through very much, but he'd hoped that Junkrat would just sort of _get it_ without him having to explain. Which, of course he doesn't. Probably no one's even apologized to him in his entire life. As depressing as that would be to think about, if Roadhog gave a shit about that kind of thing (he doesn't), it's mostly an annoyance right now.

“Come back,” said Roadhog. Junkrat, looking puzzled, sticks a metal pinkie in his ear and swirls it around like he's clearing out wax.

“What was that, mate?” he asks.

“Come. Back,” says Roadhog. A grin slowly spreads across Junkrat's angular face and Roadhog absolutely hates it.

“Ya missed me!” he says. “Knew ya would! Knew you'd come back to get me!” Roadhog doesn't call him on the lie even though mere seconds ago Junkrat had said that he had no idea why Roadhog was back. Not to mention the fact that he'd never told Roadhog where it was he lived exactly, so how could he expect Roadhog to find him?

“Can't keep an eye on you out here,” Roadhog grumbles.

“Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say,” says Junkrat, and Roadhog resists the urge to ask who has _ever_ said that to Junkrat. Before Roadhog can even process what's happening, Junkrat has taken a flying leap and launched himself over the line of hazards protecting him from the outside world. Must be a spring in his leg or something, because not just anyone could've made that leap. What's more alarming is that the little rat sprung himself directly into Roadhog's belly, where he has now buried his face.

“Didya miss me, Roadie?”

“No.” He hopes the lie isn't that noticeable.

 

It's been about a year now. They've just been kicked out of Junkertown for approximately the millionth time, but Junkrat doesn't seem bothered by it. In fact, he's positively giddy as he waltzes through the door, laughing the entire time.

“What's so funny?” grumbles Roadhog, who's slightly irritated at the whole affair. And, honestly, slightly irritated with Junkrat for starting a brawl in his favorite bar again. Sure, Roadhog will always bail him out, but he's none too pleased to be shut out of town again when they were just supposed to be going in for some gunpowder and a drink or two.

“Oh, nothing,” says Junkrat, practically twirling past the kitchen. “Just another be-autiful day in Oz!” Roadhog stares at him as he continues to spin, arms wide, around the living area, then snorts out a laugh. At this point, it's a little difficult for him to stay mad when Junkrat seems so happy. He'd rather they hadn't gotten kicked out today, but they always found some way back in, and he guesses it's nice that Junkrat isn't angry about it. Junkrat beams at him, jagged teeth catching the artificial light in the living area.

“Dance with me, Roadie!” he says, grabbing Roadhog's arms and holding them out. Roadhog doesn't exactly dance, but he does allow the scrawny fuck to lead him to his bed. Junkrat flops down on his back and wriggles out of his binder. The first time Junkrat did that, Roadhog had assumed that it was some kind of brazen sexual advance. By now he knew that the poor guy just needs some breathing space, and is comfortable enough around Roadhog not to mind being half-naked. Kind of like a cat showing their belly. Roadhog lies down next to Junkrat and lifts up his mask just enough to kiss the dip between his small breasts. Junkrat giggles.

“Yer such a sap!” he says. “Ya look like this big, angry fucker, but yer soft!” Roadhog blows a raspberry on his chest in retaliation. Junkrat squeals with laughter and pushes Roadhog's face away. “What was that for?”

“Payback,” says Roadhog.

“Yer roight,” says Junkrat, rolling his eyes. “Yer a heartless bastard, ain't ya?”

“The worst,” says Roadhog. He's supposed to be, after all, and who is he if he doesn't at least pretend to keep up the front? Junkrat's laughter subsides and he sighs contentedly.

“Wish I could live here all the time,” he says. Roadhog snort-laughs again.

“Already do,” he says.

“Roight!” says Junkrat, smiling. He yawns. “I'm gonna take a nap. Remind me to tell ya about this genius plan I have when I wake up.” Roadhog nods, knowing that the idea will slip into obscurity unless he actually does remind Junkrat.

Junkrat pulls the sheet over his body and curls up on his side, closing his eyes. It's amazing how quickly such a ball of energy can fall asleep. Well, if he isn't all wired on caffeine or ideas. There's an empty pot of coffee on his side of the table from yesterday, and a couch with a blanket and pillow in the workshop for when the caffeine high eventually wears off and he needs to crash. Junkrat is fine as long as his brain can settle down, but sometimes there are sleepless nights that wake Roadhog up from the tossing and turning and the shouting when something inevitably goes wrong in one of his late-night projects and he forgets that Roadhog is asleep.

Rumpled sheets, bits and pieces of scrap and half-finished concepts on the floor. There are signs everywhere that Junkrat lives here now. It's not just Roadhog's home anymore. It's theirs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff
> 
> oh! I guess it's pretty much valentine's day so happy vamlumtimes! consider this my confession of love to everyone who takes the time to read.


End file.
